Movies

It Happened At Midnight

I never really liked the Harry Potter movies as much as I thought I would. I thought the first two were slavishly faithful to the books, Azkaban lost the stiff upper lip and balanced darkness and whimsy perfectly (probably because director Alfonso Cuaron wasn’t …British enough), while movies 4 onwards were examples of teal-and-orange-itis that film students of the future will study as a syndrome brought about by effect-heavy film budgets in the first decade of the 21st century.

It was not great cinema, not at all. But down the line, the Harry Potter movies did something not quite that unusual – they replaced the pastel-flavored imagery of Mary-Grand Pre, the watercolors and inks of Thomas Taylor and Cliff Wright in my mind, in our minds. For better or worse, Warner Brothers helped create the definitive mental picture of the Hogwarts class of ’98 and assorted environments in the HPverse.  Daniel Radcliffe was Harry Potter, gritted teeth and all, likewise Ms Watson, Mr Grint, Mr Rickman – oh hell yeah! – all of them became living versions of a fictional world. They grew up in real (or nearly real) time,  gaining Adam’s apples, cleavage and outstanding degrees of coolness ( I refer to Neville Longbottom. As a t-shirt I saw recently put it – and rightfully so – ‘Neville would have done it in 4 books.’).

With the exception of the Deathly Hallows Pt 1, however, I paid the piper his due, making biennial trips to the theater, regular, IMAX, 3D, whatever the producers chose to throw at me. Not great cinema, but a ritual that marked the passing of time, if you will. Now Deathly Hallows – I wanted to watch Pt 1 the same time as the second part came out, because of my unfortunate propensity to maintain a sense of continuity in whatever I consume ( blame it on comics, yes. And that is also why I am avoiding Breaking Bad as it begins its fourth season. I intend to see it in one marathon sitting, as the season concludes. Wish me luck.) But a cross-Atlantic flight entertainment system whispered temptation to my sleep-addled brain, and I gave in.

Deathly Hallows Pt 2 marks the end of one of the longest sequential narratives in cinema. Possible the longest with the same cast, if you do not count the Zatoichi films of Shintaro Katsu. (Correct me if I am wrong, ok?) I queued up for the last three books in the series, in a different city every time, with filter coffee and sambhar memories associated with each. And tears. Oh yeah, the last book made me cry, and at a very different point than what you would expect. And that is why the movie itself meant so much. I wanted to celebrate the event, and I am glad I could, with friends. The original plan was to hit the theater opposite my office on Friday afternoon, with as many people as possible. But Carmageddon loomed large, and we decided to watch it at midnight instead. People were beginning to queue from lunchtime on Thursday, most of them young boys and girls dressed as wizards and witches, with wands and scars and a whole lot of joie de vivre. I was a little more practical, having made up my mind to reach the theater not later than 10:00 PM. A brief moment of panic when I saw that the queue was no more, then the realization that people had been allowed in and could pick their own seats. Two hours of agonizing patience, more laughter, people trickling in, tubs of popcorn, The Dark Knight Rises trailer, and finally, the film. Two hours of it-all-ends-ing for a journey that lasted ten years. Applause. Cheering. Happiness. All was well.

But Neville would have still done it in 4 books.

                   

    

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